


How Strange the Change

by wowbright



Series: Glee Season 3 episode reactions [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Anal Fingering, Episode Related, Episode: s03e05 The First Time, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied not Graphic, M/M, Masturbation, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2018-03-25 00:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3789433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wowbright/pseuds/wowbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thinking about your boyfriend while masturbating is sexy, but talking with him while masturbating is sexier. Pure, unadulterated fluff and a good dose of implied smut. (This story takes place just after <em>When I Think About You (3.05 Reaction Fic)</em>, which was supposed to be a one-shot. You should probably read <em>When I Think About You</em> first – it's my Season 3 Reaction Fics series here on AO3.)</p><p>Also on tumblr: http://wowbright.tumblr.com/post/42613323368/fic-how-strange-the-change</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Strange the Change

Blaine had not touched the skin on Kurt's chest or back or thighs. He had not seen those beautiful, muscular arms or kissed the spot on Kurt's stomach between his navel and his waistband. He had only gotten the slightest taste of sweat when he'd kissed Kurt's throat – what little of it he could access above Kurt's high collar.  
   
But God, he had _felt_ Kurt. Felt Kurt's warmth and fire and the quavering want and need in Kurt's body – even if it was wrapped in layer after layer of clothing. Blaine had wanted to remove every piece of that cruel clothing – the leopard print sweater and the black sweater beneath it and the white oxford beneath that and, fuck, there was probably an undershirt beneath _that_ (and that's not even to mention all the clothing below the equator, the machinating pants and boots and socks and briefs) – but all the unpeeling would be worth it because, finally, it would be just _Kurt._ Kurt and his luminous white skin and his muscles, trembling and quickening under Blaine's touch.  
   
Blaine had not wanted to stop. God, he wanted to live in a world where he never, never had to stop touching Kurt, where he could spend his days doing nothing but using his lips and skin and hands to make Kurt helpless and strong.  
   
But Blaine doesn't live in that world. He lives in a world where he has to go to school every day, spend class after class never running into Kurt except in his daydreams. He lives in a world where he has to spend most afternoons serenading Rachel Berry, whom he doesn't love, instead of Kurt, whom he does. He lives in a world where his parents expect him to unload the dishwasher, to do his homework and to go to bed at a reasonable hour on school nights.  
   
These are all good things. Really. They make Blaine responsible and steady. They probably give him strength and character. They very well may be what makes Blaine the person that Kurt loves.  
   
But they also mean that Blaine has to constantly say goodbye to Kurt, constantly feel a little part of him die. He gets past it, of course. He enjoys his classes and rehearsing and talking to his mom over dinner. He even gets lost in these things, forgets to miss Kurt, loses for a few moments the knowledge that if Kurt were there, by his side, each of these things would be more complete. But when he sees Kurt again, it all rushes back to him. Smells, tastes, colors, sounds, emotions – they all become more vivid, more alive.  
   
It's a feeling that makes Blaine want to do everything with Kurt, and also that makes him afraid to do everything with Kurt. Because if he feels this way now, when he hasn't even learned the geography of Kurt's body and the sounds that Kurt makes when he loses control, when he hasn't felt the depth of Kurt's love in the most physical and tangible way – then what? What will all those hours they spend apart do to Blaine then?  
   
And so he is here in his kitchen, putting away the dishes while his mother sings to herself in the sewing room downstairs, and he misses Kurt. He wishes Kurt were there, leaning against the island – radiating poise and warmth and light – and telling Blaine another story from his day, or chiding Blaine for stacking the juice glasses incorrectly, all the while looking at Blaine in one of the thousands of ways that make him unravel.  
   
Blaine would even settle for Kurt being in another room of the house – maybe down in the sewing room with Blaine's mom. Blaine would catch snippets of their conversation as Kurt swooned over the intricacies of her new Husqvarna sewing machine, and Blaine would smile because the two people he loves most in the world make each other happy.  
   
He longs for Kurt.  
   
Kurt, who has been gone for all of 5 minutes.  
   
 _Every time we say goodbye I die a little._  
   
The sound of Blaine's mother singing breaks into the absence left by Kurt. She has the entire Cole Porter songbook memorized. She dips into it constantly, often unconsciously, singing its words as naturally as she breathes. It's been that way as long as Blaine can remember, which means that he, too, has it memorized.  
   
 _Every time we say goodbye, I wonder why a little._  
   
This is one of her favorites, and Blaine hasn't failed to notice that she sings it more often when Blaine's dad is on one of his business trips, especially when she's just gotten off the phone with him.  
   
 _Why the gods above me, who must be in the know –_  
   
Despite the problems he has had with his dad, the way his parents love each other has never failed to comfort him. Maybe more so in the past few years, because he senses how hard it is on his mother to see the tension between her son and husband and still love them both, wholeheartedly.  
   
 _Think so little of me, they allow you to go._  
   
And since this spring, when he first opened his eyes and saw Kurt – really _saw_ Kurt – for the first time, his parents' love for each other doesn't just comfort him. It makes him feel connected to them. When Blaine's mother gets like this, he wants to say, _I finally understand._  
   
Blaine hears himself joining in with his mother's music as he grabs a sponge to wipe down the counters.  
   
 _When you're near, there's such an air of spring about it._  
   
Her voice becomes more sonorous in response to Blaine's singing, and it amazes him, how she can be down in the basement and yet her voice is right there, vibrating through his breastbone.  
   
 _I can hear the larks somewhere begin to sing about it._  
   
She hands him the melody, twining her notes above and around his, and it is beautiful and strange to Blaine's ears to hear harmony on a song that's about feeling alone.  
   
 _There's no love song finer, but how strange the change from major to minor._  
   
On the last syllable, she sings a minor second note above his before resolving into a minor third, and it is disconcerting and perfect. It sends his heart keening.  
   
 _Every time we say goodbye._  
   
They repeat the verse and Blaine wishes Kurt were there to join in, making the spring and the larks real with his voice. He wishes Kurt could hear that shift from major to minor that is an echo of Blaine's heart.  
   
\--------  
   
Blaine is back in his room when Kurt calls, trying to decide if he should go completely monochromatic gray for tomorrow or throw in a pop of color with a red bowtie.  Because red would bring a little _voom_ into the outfit – but the gray plaid of the pants paired with the gray stripes of the cardigan may be _voom_ enough. God, he always wants to be _voom_ enough for Kurt.  
   
"Hey, Kurt," he says, and as soon as hears the "Good evening, Blaine" on the other end of the line, the fire that has been ebbing since Kurt's departure roars back into full flame. Blaine sinks onto his bed because he seriously can't stand up anymore.  
   
"God," says Blaine. "I wish you were here. Why did we decide you had to leave at 8:30?"  
   
"Because I told my parents I would follow my school night curfew even if they aren't at home, and because you had to put away the dishes, and because we are reasonable and responsible people."  
   
"Why?"  
   
"Blaine," Kurt says. His voice is exasperated but not impatient. "Please don't make me regret coming home any more than I already do."  
   
"Kurt –" Blaine starts, but then nothing else comes, because does that mean that Kurt feels the same ache in his heart that Blaine feels right now, has felt since he watched Kurt close the door to his Navigator and drive off tonight? It's not the first time that Kurt has made Blaine confused and overwhelmed and speechless, and it won't be the last. Kurt is the only person in the world who can make Blaine forget how to string two words of the English language together.  
   
"Blaine? Are you still there?"  
   
"Yeah," Blaine says. "Just – "  
   
"What, Blaine?"  
   
"You miss me, too?" It's so stupid. Of course Kurt misses him. But Blaine has such a hard time understanding it. What does Kurt see in him? Blaine is just – normal and simple and, well, _Blaine._  
   
"Oh, Blaine," says Kurt, and there's this tinge of sadness to his voice. "Tonight was – Blaine, I just felt so connected to you. I _feel_ so connected to you. It's – if sex is even half that – " Kurt pauses. "All I did the whole drive home was sing your mother's lovelorn Cole Porter tunes."  
   
"Really?"  
   
" _Every time we say goodbye, I die a little –_ " and Kurt is singing to him over the phone and Blaine burns with an affection that borders on ecstasy. He knows it's not a coincidence, that his mother must have been singing to herself as Blaine walked Kurt outside, but still – that Kurt caught it and that Kurt thinks of _Blaine_ when he hears that song is a little beyond Blaine's ability to comprehend.  
   
"But I sing that song about you," Blaine says.  
   
Kurt's voice is quieter and a little breathless. "So we feel the same way."  
   
Blaine's heart hitches. He will never understand how he won Kurt's love. Blaine sees Kurt in all his perfect strength and knows that there is no better honor than to love him; it's mystifying that Kurt can see Blaine that way, in all his imperfect weakness.  
   
Blaine wants to drive over to Kurt's right now and ask Kurt to show him exactly what he feels, to write it on Blaine's body with his fingers and mouth, leave it as an indelible poem on Blaine's skin so that maybe Blaine can finally comprehend it. _Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief._

"I love you, Kurt."  
   
"I love you, too, Blaine. So much." Blaine hears a _clunk_ in the background and a muffled voice, and Kurt groans. "Excuse me a second. Finn's at my door."  
   
Blaine hears the _Come in_ and _No, go ahead, the TV's all yours_ and _Are you going to be okay? Should I make you some warm milk?_ and _Yeah, well, there's a reason I don't date girls_ and _Okay, but I feel it's my duty in our parents' absence to tell you not to stay up too late._  
   
Blaine hears what sounds like a closing door and then Kurt's back, close to his ear. "Sorry," Kurt says. "Finn's having girl trouble."  
   
"Again?"  
   
"Yeah. I guess while I was over at your house, Finn had Rachel over for dinner and deflowering, but then she told him the reason she wants to sleep with him now instead of last month or next year is because Artie thinks she's too virginal for the role of Maria. So Finn told her to leave. No sex. I never thought Finn was much of a romantic, but I guess I underestimated him."  
   
Blaine doesn't want to say anything, but he thinks he probably should. "Yeah. Artie kind of said that to both of us."  
   
"That you're too virginal?"  
   
"Pretty much."  
   
"What an idiot. You are so _not_ virginal, Blaine."  
   
All the blood that isn't running to Blaine's groin is coloring his cheeks and ears. "Um, Kurt, I know we've had this discussion before but, just to remind you, I _am_ a virgin."  
   
"Yeah, but you're not _virginal_. You're sex to me. Even if I've never had it with you."  
   
Why, again, did he let Kurt go tonight? Why didn't he just tell his mom that Kurt would be sleeping over and not to disturb them? She probably would have been fine with it, as long as they'd actually slept at some point and woken up the next morning, eaten breakfast and gotten to school on time. Seriously. When he'd clarified for her in August that, _no, we're not having sex yet_ , she seemed a little taken aback and told him she and his dad certainly hadn't waited that long.  
   
If Blaine weren't so reasonable and responsible and steady, he could be wrapped up in Kurt _right now_ , inundated with kisses and skin and desire and sufficiency. Blaine thinks of Kurt's mouth on his collarbone earlier tonight and shivers. "Fuck, Kurt. You really are going to be the death of me."  
   
"Only in the sense of _la petite mort_ , I hope."  
   
"Kurt, we really need to change the subject right now or I am going to need to go and take care of this."  
   
"This?" says Kurt, and _God_ , this teasing is so infuriating and so _hot._  
   
"This," Blaine says.  
   
"Is South America getting restless?"  
   
Blaine is sure he didn't hear the last thing right, because it sounded like Kurt was asking if South America was restless. "What?"  
   
"Oh, sorry. I guess I've only used that metaphor in my own head – since we started talking tonight about our hands going 'south of the equator.' My brain just kind of ran with it. Australia is your ass and South America is, well –"  
   
"Oh," Blaine says. And seriously, his boyfriend has a mind like no one he's ever known. He's always known Kurt was brilliant, but brilliantly dirty? _Wow._ "What's Africa, then?"

"I've been thinking about that. I think that's only on girls."  
   
"And Antarctica?"  
   
"The proportions and the temperature are wrong, but given the location, I've decided it's the perineum."  
   
_Fuck_. His boyfriend just said _perineum_. Blaine has never realized until now that the word is _sexy._ "Not the, um –" _Man up. Say it._ "Asshole?"  
   
Blaine hears Kurt giggle. "Okay, so you're going to think I'm the biggest weirdo, but I was thinking that _that_ must be right at the bottom center of Australia. So after I got home, I looked at a map of Australia and found _exactly_ where that is."  
   
"Um, if you're a weirdo, you're a _hot_ weirdo _,_ " Blaine says. Because, seriously, this should be hilarious, but Blaine's mind is just whistling and exploding because his boyfriend thinks about assholes. Which maybe means he thinks about Blaine's asshole, which means –  
   
"It's called Wahgunyah Conservation Park. And then I did a Google image search of it and, Blaine, it's _gorgeous._ There's cliffs and heath and sand dunes and the ocean, and I totally want to go there."  
   
_Totally want to go there._ Blaine's not sure if Kurt is talking about the actual park or the thing that the park is a euphemism for but – _fuck._ "Kurt, I'm seriously going to lose it. I think we either need to stop talking about geography, or we should hang up for a few minutes and I'll call you back when I'm a little, um, calmer."  
   
"Only if, when we get back on the phone, you tell me exactly how you made yourself calmer."  
   
Blaine can see exactly how Kurt's face must look right now, teasing and a little haughty and those _fucking eyebrows_ , and it takes all of Blaine's will not to undo his pants right now and grab his – South America. "So, you asked me earlier tonight if I ever want to just rip all your clothes off? Right now. I want to rip all your clothes off."  
   
Kurt's voice becomes serious. "Let me take care of you." His voice isn't pleading or commanding, just earnest and raw.  
   
It makes Blaine's heart break a little. "Kurt, you're – you're kind of far away."  
   
"I know. But we could stay on the phone and – " Kurt pauses. "I mean, if that's okay with you. I can't get the way you looked tonight out of my head. You kill me, too."  
   
"Kurt."  
   
"I just want you to feel how much I want you. But only if you want to. I don't want it to be creepy weird for you or – "  
   
"Kurt." Blaine leans over to rifle through his nightstand for his phone headset – the stupid, ridiculous earpiece that he never uses because it makes him look like an under-aged, self-important salesman – because, fuck, he wants to do this with both hands.  
   
"What?" Kurt says.  
   
"Yes."  
   
"Yes?"  
   
" _Yes_ ," Blaine repeats.  
   
"You want me to take care of you?"  
   
"Only if I can take off my shirt."  
   
"Um, okay," Kurt says with an underlying tone of _Of course, you idiot_. Blaine loves that tone.  
   
"Hold on. And take yours off, too. All of them. I mean, if you want to."  
   
"All of them are already off except my undershirt. You've been kind of making me hot and bothered."  
   
"God, Kurt." Blaine puts the phone on his pillow, yanks his T-shirt off over his head and pops the headset in his ear. "I'm back."  
   
"Where are you?"  
   
"On my bed."  
   
"Is that where you usually – When you mentioned it tonight, that's the image I got in my head."  
   
"Usually. If circumstances allow. Where are you?"

 

"On my bed. I guess we're pretty predictable."  
   
That is absolutely not the word that Blaine would have chosen to describe the situation they're in right now. Blaine closes his eyes and trails his hands down his chest, imagining it's Kurt's fingertips and tongue lingering on his nipples, and the feeling is so much more intense than it's ever been alone.  
   
"Kurt, tell me what you think about."  
   
Kurt hums softly. "Fingertips. Your fingertips. Everywhere."  
   
"Where are they now?"  
   
"On my stomach. Just north of Brazil."  
   
"Put them on Brazil." Blaine isn't actually sure if Brazil is Kurt's pubic hair or one of his balls, but he doesn't really care. He wants to feel it all.  
   
"Are you sure?"  
   
"Brazil and then Argentina. But Brazil right now. Tell me what it feels like."  
   
"Fuck, Blaine. Hold on. I need to take off my pants. If that's okay."  
   
"Your pants are still on?"  
   
"Aren't yours?"  
   
"Yeah."  
   
"Well, you'd better take yours off, too."  
   
"God, yes." Blaine hastily unbuttons his pants and pushes them down his legs, flinging them off of the end of the bed. "Should I keep my briefs on or off?"  
   
"I want you completely naked, Blaine. Like me."  
   
Blaine complies. He's not sure whether he's more excited by the fact that Kurt wants him naked, or that Kurt, too, is completely naked now. It's overwhelming and wonderful and he sinks back into his pillows, eyes closed, letting the fingers of one hand act as Kurt's tongue on his nipple and the fingers of the other act as Kurt's own fingers, exploring the jungles of Brazil. "God, I love you, Kurt."  
   
Kurt lets out a little sigh of pleasure. "I love you, too, Blaine. Let me show you how much."  
   
"Do you ever think of my fingers on Argentina?"  
   
"All the time, Blaine."  
   
"Tell me how I touch you."  
   
"Sometimes it's slow and tender and teasing and – " Kurt inhales sharply. "Fuck, Blaine. The touch of your fingertips is as sexy as it gets."  
   
Blaine is almost never this gentle with himself. Since starting to date Kurt, he usually grabs and pulls and squeezes from the get-go, especially lately. Because usually now, when he starts, he's been building up for hours – making out with Kurt, sitting next to Kurt, just _thinking_ of Kurt – and he's crazy with the need for relief.  
   
But the way Kurt is talking to him makes Blaine want to drag it out. God, he loves this, the languid teasing, almost like a flickering tongue – _Kurt's_ flickering tongue – and _fuck_ , he sees Kurt looking up at him from under those quizzical brows, running the tip of his tongue along the Andes toward Patagonia.  
   
"Kurt – "  
   
"Yes?"  
   
"Fuck. You're licking Patagonia. Is that okay?"  
   
Kurt moans. "I've always dreamed of going to Patagonia. Especially the southern tip."  
   
Blaine rolls onto his side to reach between his bedspring and mattress for the bottle of lube he keeps hidden there. He rubs some onto his fingertips and – _wow, that really does feel like a tongue. Fuck._  
   
"Where else do you want me to go, Blaine?"  
   
Blaine's brain is bells and sirens and whistling kettles and strobe lights. "Oh, fuck, Kurt. That place in Australia. Please."

"Mmmm," Kurt murmurs delightedly. "Wahgunyah? Fuck, Blaine, I would love to explore Wahgunyah. Tell me what you want me to do to you. Can I keep licking you?"  
   
"Yes, please. Just your finger, your middle finger, God, Kurt, just tease me and – "  
   
"Fuck, Blaine. You make me want to come."  
   
"Not yet."

 

"No. Mmmmm. I won't yet."  
   
"Oh my God, Kurt, your finger is, oh God, it's inside me, just the tip. God, I want you so bad – "  
   
"Shhhh. Take your time. I want it to feel good. How can I help you relax?"  
   
"Just – Play with me. Keep teasing. And – oh, fuck, suck my throat like you did tonight."  
   
The moan that comes out of Kurt's throat sounds deeper and more desperate than anything Blaine's heard before. "Oh, Blaine. Yes."  
   
"What am I doing to you?"  
   
"You're rubbing against me with your – Oh, God, Blaine, I feel you."  
   
"Fuck, Kurt. I want your finger inside me. I'm ready. Please."  
   
Kurt is fucking _panting_ into the phone. "Yes. Yes, Blaine – yes."  
   
Blaine shudders with the sensation and it's just one finger but it's _Kurt's_ finger and it brushes against that spot and, _oh, God,_ he's not going to be able to last much longer.  
   
"Oh, God, Kurt. You have me. You make me so, so – Fuck, Kurt. You make me want to come so bad. I want you to come. Will you come for me? Kurt, tell me what makes you come."  
   
"You, Blaine, just – " and Blaine hears nothing for a moment, no breath, no sigh. And then _wow_ , a gasp so loud it makes Blaine's head buzz and it's drawn out, turns into a moan and Blaine can see Kurt's face, surprised and ecstatic and flushed pink and he can feel Kurt's perfect finger inside him, sending sparks through his hips, and he can feel Kurt's other hand gripping him and willing Blaine to come.  
   
"Kurt, God, I – " Blaine can't feel the bed sheets beneath him or pillow under his head or the see the light from his lamp or hear his own voice. All he knows is Kurt pulsing through his body, Kurt wrapped around him, Kurt's smell and Kurt's taste and Kurt, Kurt, Kurt.  
   
"Fuck, Blaine. I love you. I love you. I love you."  
   
Blaine feels the truth of Kurt's words in every cell of his body. It is alive and singing and, _fuck,_ it has never felt like this before. It's pure heat and light and passion and, yes, _love,_ and he can't keep it all inside anymore.  
   
"Oh, God, Kurt. You're making me – I feel you. I feel it. Kurt, I'm gonna – "  
   
"Do it, Blaine. Do it for me. I want you to feel how much I love you."  
   
"I do, Kurt. I – " And Blaine moans with the release and he's not sure how loud it is and he hopes his mother didn't hear but he kind of doesn't care.  
   
They are worthless for the rest of their phone conversation. It is nothing but _wow_ s and _I love you_ s and _fuck_ s and murmuring each other's names. Except when Blaine says, "Thank you" and Kurt sighs, "Oh, Blaine, you don't thank me for that. The pleasure was all mine. Really."  
   
When they hang up, Blaine puts on his pajamas and drags himself to the bathroom. He pauses at the top of the stairs and is pleased to hear the sewing machine still thrumming and his mom obliviously singing to herself, until he recognizes the tune.  
   
_In the heavens, stars are dancing_  
_And the mounting moon is new._  
_What a rare night for romancing._  
_Mind if I make love to you?_  
   
And then Blaine wonders if she overheard after all. He steps into the bathroom and reaches for his toothbrush, bracing for the wave of shame that he's sure is about to overwhelm him.  
   
But it never comes. He's just happy. And he doesn't care who knows it.  
   
It's not hard to fall asleep that night. Of course, he wishes that Kurt could be there, lying beside him – that he could inhale Kurt's scent and breath as he sleeps. But the terrible ache he expected isn't there. He still feels like Kurt carried a piece of his heart away with him when he left tonight. But the space where it was isn't empty.  
   
Blaine realizes, now, that he has a piece of Kurt's heart to take its place.  


**Author's Note:**

> Original notes from Livejournal:  
> Title from "Every Time We Say Good-Bye" by Cole Porter.  
> 
> 
> When the Andersons sing "Every Time We Say Goodbye," they use the phrasing of [the Annie Lennox version](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qizn3YnAC0k). Also, I never intended to write a sequel to [When I Think About You](http://wowbright.livejournal.com/3632.html), and I don't intend to write a sequel to this. (Which I guess makes the chances of me writing a sequel to this pretty high.) I basically wrote this sequel because the metaphors kind of took over my brain - and also because [](http://likeasouffle.livejournal.com/profile)[**likeasouffle**](http://likeasouffle.livejournal.com/) commented on [](http://kurt-blaine.livejournal.com/profile)[**kurt_blaine**](http://kurt-blaine.livejournal.com/) that, just because they hadn't allowed their hands to travel south of the equator, didn't mean they hadn't had phone sex. I see this as canon-compliant, but you're free to tell me if you differ. I love hearing others' viewpoints, as long as they're respectfully stated. And, as always, please comment on anything - pacing, language, spelling, characterization, imagery, hotness or lack thereof ... You can send a PM if you prefer.   
> 


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